No, not exactly “Saturday night, Date Night”. No, it was the end of the first day of the NFL Football Playoffs.
The first game was late afternoon and the second was a night game – not ending until after midnight. It’s a football junkie’s dream. Four good games, well, they should be since they all made the playoffs, but then again, others did have better records… but that’s a story for another time. Again, four good games to determine who will compete against the top four teams next weekend. Like I said, a football junkie’s dream – those who don’t follow this are clearly not junkies.
Up early this morning nevertheless – the love of my life hates the music at the later Masses. Lying in bed before the alarm went off (only day of the week it gets used), I was planning my day. Were the games to be accompanied by a platter of buffalo chicken wings? Or should I go the chips and dip route (my love makes a nasty cheese and salsa dip)? Or might she surprise me with her infamous broiled chicken wings? My stomach began growling and the 6:10 alarm had not even yet gone off!!
And so there we were, at the 7AM Mass. Not many football junkies there, though I think if we polled them most would readily remember names like Bronco Nagurski, The Galloping Ghost, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. (This seems to becoming a story for the football junkies out there, but hang in there, it takes a turn…)
On the ride back from church, my love asked, “Were you paying attention in Mass? Today’s the Feast of the Epiphany.”
Not knowing where she was going with this, I gave her a blank look. I was wondering if she would now quiz me on the homily.
“Don’t you usually take the outdoor lights down on that day?
I think the temperature is supposed to go into the forties with just a touch more rain. Then it’s supposed to turn very cold tomorrow and for the rest of the week.”
“Hmmph, are you kidding?” I replied. “Today is the continuation of the NFL ‘wake’.”
“Wake? What’re you talking about?”
“The NFL playoffs continue today. They’re like the ‘wake’ that leads up to the final game of the season. The Super Bowl is like the ‘funeral’. After it’s over there are six months of mourning before the ‘resurrection’ of the next season!”
I prided myself with my early morning analogies.
I was going to continue with an explanation that the best part about the wake thing is that it’s like an Irish funeral – it’s accompanied by a ton of food to comfort the loss being felt by those attending. But I knew it was too early to push my literary wit upon her. Instead, I just glanced at her with a smug smile – only to find her focused on the weekly bulletin.
“Hmm, I see the Brace’s won the weekly drawing.
Also, the Kincaid kid is finally getting married. I’ll bet his folks will be happy to see him finally move out.”
Oh well, I still had a great day ahead of me. Nothing was going to stop me – or so I thought.
Not ten minutes later, having poured our first cups of coffee, we sat at the kitchen table only to find a puddle of water in the middle of it!
Looking up it appeared that the ceiling fan/light had a leak. And I always thought its movement was electrically, not hydronically, driven.
“Oh no, looks like there’s a leak,” astutely observed my partner in crime.
“But there are no pipes in this part of the ceiling. There’s just the roof…,” and as the words left my lips I turned to see that it had again resumed the heavy rain that had been falling all night. Oh no!!
“There must be a leak in the roof. Do you think you can get up there to check it?”
And with that, my carefully planned farewell celebration of the rapidly closing NFL season took a fatal shot to the heart.
“Well, have your breakfast first. You always seem to operate better on a full stomach,” continued my wise partner, leaning on years of experience with yours truly.
Shortly before noon, it was a long breakfast, found me on the internet seeking suggestions on how to repair a roof leak – assuming I could even find the stupid fissure if I abandoned all my fears of height and climbed upon the roof in the next several days.
Just my luck, Elise was doing the same thing on another PC and found a roofing sealer that could even be applied to a surface that is underwater!! So much using the ongoing deluge as a means of deferring this latest repair. (My offer to continue to empty the pot she had placed beneath the continually dripping fan didn’t go far in seeking to delay the project for a few days – perhaps we’d have an Indian summer in January. And, as unexpectedly, maybe my fear of all things requiring an extension ladder might go away!)
No, instead I found myself driving the two of us to Home Depot to purchase the “super sealer” that would solve this latest disaster. (She does not usually accompany me on such excursions, but it was a Sunday. And I don’t think she trusted me to get the right product.)
Once there we found that the item mentioned on the HD site was not available at this particular store!! Ah yes, a reason for delay.
But some overly helpful guy in an orange apron began chatting it up with the love of my life and explained that they had an alternative sealer that would work just as well.
It came in gallon buckets as well as those tubes that go into a caulking gun. “You’ll probably only need a tube since, once you find the leak, it won’t take much to seal it.”
I’ve had enough bad experiences with those stupid guns to know better. I “That assumes I’ll readily find the point of the leak. Let’s go with the larger container – if nothing else it costs a lot less per ounce.”
Of course, my love then read the directions and determined that we’d also require a trowel to apply it and special gloves to ensure the sealer didn’t get on my skin. (I hesitated to mention that we might also need to stop at the drugstore for some Dramamine to deal with my upcoming vertigo.)
Thus, while others were surely comfortably seated awaiting the opening kickoff, I was dragging my unwieldy extension ladder out of the shed. (Did I mention that the rain had continued, though at a slow drizzle?) Equipped with my newly acquired gloves, plastic trowel (no way was I going to be bothered cleaning it afterwards), and the gallon of sealer I approached the roofline.
Ah, the wonderful Pannetone and eggs that I had had with my coffee this morning made a return visit.
With my head above the roof line, I did a quick inspection hoping to easily see some missing tile or two.
But no, there was no readily apparent evidence of the location from where the water was coming. Instead, I had a vision of my delectable chicken wings taking flight! This was not going to be some quick solution.
Slowly climbing onto the roof, I got my footing and, with my head now up in the clouds, stood like a master of his ship. Hands on my hips I gazed over the peak of the roof toward the fog enshrouded horizon. No vertigo for me. I was a man on a mission.
Of course, I had not yet taken any steps on the gently inclined, though wet roof.
Convinced that I couldn’t find any leaks from a standing position, I dropped to my knees. In addition to allowing me to more closely examine the tiles, I found that the prone position added to my feelings of security.
“See anything?” called the love my life who was now standing at the base of the ladder.
“No! But don’t stand there and wait, I may be awhile. I have my work cut out for me up here.”
Then, with trowel and gallon can in hand, I combat-crawled to the peak of the roof.
If only the stupid roofers had stuck to a precise pattern when laying the tiles, it may have been easier to detect any that were missing or cracked. Instead, over the years, what might be new cracks or missing tiles seemed to now just blend in with the pattern. The only good thing was that the rain seemed to finally be stopping.
Working from the top down, I elected to finesse some of the black goop onto anything that looked like an unplanned seam in the tiles. Row after row I slathered the black tar-like substance unto my brown tiled roof. (So much for keeping the leak secret when we finally sell the house.)
I found the area where we had previously paid someone to address an earlier leak in the roof. Unbeknownst to me he used one of those small caulk tubes. He left a fine bead of black tar along the row of tiles where the steeper older roof met the gentler sloped new one. Rookie - he probably assumed that was the most likely spot for a leak (though that did suffice for the last four years.)
Not me. I had the huge bucket and was covering every crack and seam in sight. And not just fine lines of goop. Nope, I was slathering like a madman.
Oh, the first few spots got the recommended 1/8 inch of tar, feathered out along the edges. But as the trowel became stiff with the extra sealer adhering to it, any finesse soon gave way to “ah, just cover it up – no one else is going to come up here to look at it. If an eighth inch is sufficient then a half should be even better. And who needs “feathered edges” – this is man’s work, not artistry!
What had been a neat brown herringbone roof was starting to look more like a patchwork quilt of brown and black.
Fortunately, Elise had read the label and insisted I get rubber gloves that reached almost to my elbows. Though pretty thick, this junk was throwing droplets of black tar as I swept my trowel back and forth. I ended up with tar on my jacket, pants, glasses, and even a couple spots on my ear (which Elise found later that evening while watching TV!)
I worked my way perilously close to the edge, going down row by row. When I felt my feet dip into the gutters I knew that I had gone far enough.
Rising to my feet, I again ascended the fog enshrouded roof and spread whatever was left of the gallon of sealer on anything that looked like it might leak at some future date. Heck, I was tempted to begin applying sealer to the main roof though it didn’t have any leaks!
At last, with an almost empty bucket, a fully blackened and useless trowel, and gloves that would no longer flex due to their coating of sealer I made my way back toward the ladder. Time for the most difficult part of this entire project – the descent to the ladder.
Once again on all fours, I crept backwards until I could feel nothing supporting my left foot. I then stretched it out in search of the first rung of the ladder. Where was it…
Did Elise move it when she was last out here? I know it’s there somewhere…
Alas, my foot felt something solid!! Now, if I could safely sway my body in such a way as to get my second foot on the same rung, and not allow the upper part of my body to lead a swan dive to the bottom…
Oops, that’s the gutter… don’t put your weight on that foot…
Nuts, there goes the trowel – hope Elise isn’t down below.
If I could just grab the ladder – but I’d have to switch the bucket to my other hand…
Great, now it’s really starting to rain hard. Hope those stupid patches do the trick. Heck, I hope I live to see the proof in a dry ceiling.
Finally, my second foot is on the ladder. As I take my first step down my glasses slid off and fall to the deck!
Two minutes and ten rungs later I am looking up at the bottom of the eaves, not even able to gaze upon my work. Another job well done – or so I hope. Only the next few days will tell. (Though I am hoping the rain will stop and will never have to test my effectiveness in roof repair.)
A half hour of mineral spirited clean up (the trowel, gloves, jacket and pants all got dumped) and I was ready for a shower – the indoor kind which is followed by a soft towel.
Finally assuming my assigned seat at the aforementioned wake, I listened to fond stories of the lives of the teams that had just finished playing the first game. My love surprised me with a delicious goat cheese and salsa dip. “The kitchen has stayed dry, even though it’s continued to rain. It looks like your patches may have done the trick!”
Not sure but there may have been a glimmer of pride in her eye.
Then again, that may have been my eye as it reflected off the TV. It may have been a tear, but as they say, there are no tears at an Irish funeral.
PS As you may have noticed I now have the W key back on my keyboard. Nearing the end of her purge, Elise found an old keyboard in her office closet. As such, my keyboard became item number 100!!
Hmm, wonder if she remembered to deduct the Key, since she was now counting the entire keyboard.
Maybe I will keep that question to myself…
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